


Man Buns and Other Provocative Hairstyles

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Caught, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Long Hair, M/M, Parent Thranduil, Smitten Bard the Bowman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18769831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Thranduil isalwaysattractive. But there's just something about him putting that luxurious mane of silver-blonde hair into a top-knot that has Bard ready to roll over andbeg.





	Man Buns and Other Provocative Hairstyles

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't get the image of hipster!Thranduil out of my head, complete with top-knot and glasses with a thick, black rim...and now neither can you :)

“Thranduil, darlin’, have you seen-,” Bard cuts himself off rather suddenly. He stands in the doorway to the washroom, his brown eyes fixed on the svelte from that stands before an ornate, silver mirror, the elegant creature’s mouth curled in something akin to a grimace as he jabs thin slivers of metal into his hair.

“Bard! Just the person I need…” he winces as one of the pins pulls at his hair—he is out of practice with this. “Be a dear and hand me one of the bands from the cabinet there.” He nods toward the ornate wooden cabinet a few feet to his left.

But Bard doesn’t move. “Your…Your _hair_ …” his ability to form coherent sentences is fading fast as he watches his husband put the finishing touches on a messy top-knot, a few wisps of silvery-white hair falling free to frame his face.

Thranduil frowns, “Yes, yes, my hair is being particularly unruly this morning. I could _really_ use that hairband right now…”

He’s still not moving, and the Elvenking’s patience is wearing thin. “It’s just…I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you wear your hair up like this before. It’s…” he finds himself at an utter loss for words appropriate to describe the sight before him.

“Utterly unbecoming, I know.” Thranduil offers a long-suffering sigh. “But there’s simply no helping it. Legolas and Tintalle asked that I accompany them on a hunt this afternoon, and I’ve simply no desire to be washing spider blood and innards from my hair for the next two weeks…” he says, shivering at the very thought.

“Actually, I was _going_ to say that I…I like it.” Finally, he closes the gap between them and takes one of the free-falling strands between his fingers, His face pinches in consideration, “All you need now are a pair of spectacles.”

“Whatever would I need spectacles for? My eyesight is perfectly fine.” Thick, dark brows knit together in confusion.

Bard licks his lips, “For aesthetic.” He offers, before asking, “Where did you say that hairband was?”

Thranduil, now thoroughly confused, murmurs, “That cabinet over there. There should be several of them in the first drawer on the right.” The spell is broken when Bard releases his hair and moves to grab the band Thranduil requested.

The cabinet is _full_ of hair accessories, none of which Bard has ever seen the Elvenking use. There are ornate hair pins encrusted with jewels, banana clips in every color imaginable, duckbill clips embellished with vibrantly colored feathers—all fake, he is certain, considering that Thranduil would not even _think_ to harm an animal, especially for something as trivial as feathers. He digs through the accessories until he comes across a thin strip of black elastic, which he hands to Thranduil. The blonde flashes him a small smile and quickly scoops it up with thin, nimble fingers…

He struggles for a moment to wrangle his hair into the band, until finally, Bard offers his assistance. It’s a bit difficult to do so comfortably, considering how freakishly _tall_ Thranduil is, and Thranduil laughs as his husband grabs a stool that Legolas and Tintalle had used as elflings when they weren’t quite tall enough to reach the sink. It groans, not quite meant to support the weight of a full-grown man, but it doesn’t collapse underneath him, so he considers it a win. But the new angle allows him to wrestle the hair into the band with minimal difficulty. He eyes his handiwork in the mirror.

There is no question that Thranduil is _always_ beautiful. Even when Bard awakens in the middle of the night, hot and sweaty and barely able to breathe underneath his husband’s weight—for being so light on his feet, the Elvenking certainly weighs a _ton_ —to find Thranduil sprawled atop him, drool spilling from slightly parted lips and his unruly blonde hair inside Bard’s mouth, Thranduil still takes his breath away. But now…now he’s fucking sex incarnate and Bard cannot help but think how wholly unfair it is that his husband can make him _this_ dizzy with lust just by putting up his hair.

Thranduil chuckles, “Is that a knife in your pocket, meleth nîn, or is playing with my hair truly such an exciting experience?” He turns to face his husband, having to tilt his head back slightly to look into the bowman’s eyes.

“Can you…” Bard drags his fingers over Thranduil’s head, dozens of tiny, intricate braids leading to the thick knot that Bard had just finished off. “Can you wear your hair like this more often?”

The Elvenking quirks an eyebrow, “You do realize that I’ve been in here for over an hour, attempting to make myself look halfway presentable, yes?” Even elven patience, it would seem, has its limits. “Besides, my crown doesn’t sit properly when I wear my hair like this. It always leaves me with a tremendous headache.”

“I’ll do it for you.” Bard blurts, without even truly realizing what it is that he’s saying.

“You will?” Thranduil sounds as if he cannot fathom how _anyone_ would willingly subject themselves to such torture.

Bard shrugs, “I used to do Sigrid and Tilda’s hair all the time, till they were old enough to manage themselves. I…well, I guess I kinda miss it.” He says wistfully. He tugs lightly on one of the free-falling strands, causing Thranduil to let out a surprised little moan. “Besides, you should know by now just how much I enjoy playing with your hair.”

Soft, petal pink lips curl up into a smirk, “You mean how you enjoy attempting to yank it out of my scalp as you ride my cock?” And then, voice scarce above a whisper, he breathes, “Or how you bundle it so tight in your fists I can feel the muscles in my neck strain as you fuck me into the mattress?”

Bard groans, his head resting upon his husband’s broad chest. “Why must you start something you haven’t time to finish?”

Thranduil threads his fingers through Bard’s dark hair, “That is definitely not a knife.” He teases.

Traitorous fingers brush along the tent in Bard’s breeches, his touch just heavy enough that it couldn’t have been mistaken as accidental. Bard keens, his hips canting forward, desperately chasing that teasing, fleeting touch…Thranduil murmurs something about offering Bard a proper ‘thank you’ for helping him tame his wild mane of hair; truthfully, Bard isn’t really listening, is more concerned with the fact that nimble fingers are unlacing the binding on his breeches and sliding them down just far enough to provide unrestricted access to his throbbing manhood…

Thranduil grips him _tight_ , and he moans far too loudly—the sound is immediately swallowed by Thranduil’s mouth as the Elvenking dives forward, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. Bard is thrusting up into the tight sheath of Thranduil’s fingers, pre-cum dribbling messily from his purpling cockhead and easing the severity of his movements. Gods, he shouldn’t be this close to falling apart just from looking at Thranduil in all of his frustratingly perfect _perfection_. And then Thranduil’s thumb is gliding over his overly-sensitive head, the blunt nail digging into his slit just this side of painful…and he’s done thinking.

He’s startled by a heavy-handed knock on the door—when had they bothered to shut it?—but Thranduil only smirks and continues to stroke him, his free hand taking firm hold of the globes of Bard’s ass and squeezing. “What is it?” He calls.

“Are you almost ready, Ada?” Bard is able to recognize Legolas’ voice through the haze of pleasure, and he flushes darkly, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort to hold back a moan as Thranduil begins to pick up the pace, the undeniable _slap_ of skin on skin echoing in the ceramic chamber. “Um…Ada?” He asks uncertainly.

“Mmm…I do believe I shall be a few minutes longer, iôn nîn.” Thranduil says, his voice irritatingly even. “I’ve just made a most _fascinating_ discovery,” he slowly drags his tongue across his lips, making eye contact with Bard for a brief moment before slowly sinking to his knees. “And I intend to explore it thoroughly.”

Before Legolas can comment, Bard’s length is engulfed in a tight, wet heat and, without thinking, the Elvenking’s name bursts forth from him in what could only be described as a desperate _wail_. “W-Well then…” it takes Legolas a moment to collect himself, before he blurts out, “I’m sure I can find something to keep the guards entertained while you do… _that_.”

“Legolas,” Bard rolls his eyes heavenward—was there truly no end to his embarrassment? “Where is Ada? Is he still not ready to-,” there is a light knock on the door, followed by the light jiggle of the doorknob.

“Don’t go in there!” Legolas all but screams, and they can hear him rush over to the door and grab his sister by the arm. “Ada is…running a bit late. Yeah. So we’re gonna take a long, _long_ walk around the palace grounds and you’re gonna tell me all about your wedding plans-,”

“The last time I tried to tell you about my wedding, you actually fell asleep. In your dinner salad.” She says skeptically.

Thranduil snorts, trying not to laugh, but it sends a jolt through Bard that has him moaning again. His fingers tangle in Thranduil’s hair, undoing all of their hard work. Legolas snaps, “Anything is better than this!” And then they are gone.

It is embarrassing, how quickly he finishes. Thranduil greedily swallows him down, leaving only the slightest sheen of seed clinging to his full, pink lips. “You’re going to traumatize those kids.” He says, breathlessly.

His husband smirks, “Please, as if they ever had a prayer.” And then, he takes in his thoroughly disheveled appearance and laughs, “Well, hervenn, I do believe you shall get your wish. As much as I think you would enjoy the thought of me parading through the forest as such…something tells me you’ll enjoy playing with my hair more.” He says, licking his lips.

Bard’s cock twitches in his pants, “You’re horrible.” Nonetheless, he sets to work removing the glittering accessories from Thranduil’s hair and starting over from scratch..


End file.
